


Black Locust

by MooseFeels



Series: twitter decisions [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13674936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: Viktor's always hungry, but Yuuri takes such good care of him.





	Black Locust

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to @crisiscores, who originated vampire viktor here

Yuuri sits up the bed. 

Well, he less sits and more is propped up by a kingdom of cushions and pillows. Soft ones, in down and fiberfill and a couple of stiff ones made of barleyhusk for under his back. All of them covered in the softest materials Viktor could find, comfortable in his hand and cool on his skin. He wants Yuuri to be comfortable. He needs Yuuri to be comfortable. It satisfies something inside of him, to think that while Yuuri gives and gives and gives of himself like this, he is comfortable.

Viktor didn’t know, when he met him, what he was getting himself into. How could he? For the first time in a lifetime, Viktor knows his mentor is right. He is young, he is foolish, he is impulsive. 

He is also more deeply, fully in love than he has ever been in his life.

So Viktor spoils his Yuuri. He cannot help it. Yuuri gives him everything. He gives and he gives and he gives.

Yuuri’s fingers tangle into Viktor’s silvery hair. His fingers pull just a little, just enough. Firm, delicious tension, that tugs Viktor’s head and neck and shoulders up. 

He looks up, from where he lays between Yuuri’s legs. For hours, he has lain here before. For hours more, he will lie.

“Mmm,” Viktor murmurs, pressing a soft kiss against the skin of Yuuri’s thigh. Feels the press of his fine, soft body hair against his cheek. “My favorite place to be.”

Yuuri laughs, ever so slightly. He’s naked but for a white shawl pulled over his shoulders. He told him once he gets cold. 

“Vitya,” he says, pouting just a little bit. “Vitya, are you hungry?”

Viktor nods. He’s usually hungry. It’s one of his defining characteristics. 

Yuuri sighs again. “I’m ready,” he says. “Aren’t you going to eat? You make me so sad, like this.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor answers, stretching his name out in his mouth. “I will. I promise.”

He never thought he’d meet someone impatient for him like this. He didn’t think it would be real, be possible. 

How love makes a fool of him, he guesses. 

It feels almost normal, in these moments before. They are just lovers, strung between each other, in the bedsheets. Lovers and nothing more. Part of what is so difficult to talk about with Yuri and Chris is that he doesn’t want--

He doesn’t want power or authority. He doesn’t want something to lord over the rest of the world. He doesn’t want to be a god. He doesn’t want to be a predator.

He just wants to be Viktor. 

He just wants to be normal. 

It’s as much about the illusion of it as it is the actual doing of it.

Yuuri’s touch goes gentle. His warm fingers brush Viktor’s hair out of his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. “Vitya, you know I love you, right?”

Viktor smiles. He could cry. 

Well, he couldn’t. But he could. 

“I know,” he says. “I just need a moment, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiles. Sighs just a little, his chest rising and falling. 

Viktor settles back down, and he runs his tongue on the joining between Yuuri’s let and hip, that most vulnerable, interior space where his inner thigh reaches to the beginning curvature of his muscular, firm ass. Shifted to the side, opposite Viktor’s head and face is Yuuri’s dick, lying in the dense curls of his dark pubic hair. 

Viktor’s tongue wide and flat, he licks there, warms the space there with his breath, and after a moment’s hesitation, bites into the flesh there.

There’s a hitch to Yuuri’s breath when Viktor does this. There is, every time. It’s like Yuuri skips a second in the world, falling out of it for just a moment. His heart skips a beat, too, before, settling back into rhythm. A little slower, a little lazier. Something about Viktor’s bite, it leaves Yuuri dazed. Almost drunk. 

Hence: pillows.

The first few moments of eating are always strange. Viktor’s not sure where he goes, but for a moment, he’s simply not here. His mind goes completely blank, just unconscious action. Just eating. And then as suddenly, there’s the taste of blood in his mouth. Not anything else, not anything particular, just blood and the absence of hunger. And then there’s Yuuri. 

Yuuri’s brown eyes always go a little glassy, but he always looks at Viktor. And there’s always something in his expression that keeps Viktor coming back, coming here, staying here. With Yuuri. Something adoring. Something profound. 

Yuuri’s hands are gentle in the way they brush through his hair, his nails playing softly against his scalp. His pink lips slightly parted. His cheeks just a little pale-- he has lost blood, after all. 

“Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor says. 

And Yuuri always smiles in a way that kills Viktor, that drives him wild. He smiles like it was his pleasure, like he would have liked nothing more than this, this thing he’s done for Viktor. There’s a way his head tilts, a way his shoulders curve inward. Something shy about it. Yuuri, usually so brazen in the bedsheets always turns bashful when thanked for what he gives Viktor.

Viktor loves Yuuri for so many reasons. He loves how he gasps every time he sees a dog when they’re out. He loves how his hips sway when he washes dishes, keeping time with the music he hums under his breath. He loves how his eyes flutter closed when he takes a bite of something truly delicious. But Viktor thinks he might love most how unconditional and grateful Yuuri’s myriad gifts are. 

“Oh, Viktor,” Yuuri answers. Never a your welcome; Yuuri refuses to accept the gratitude. His eyes flutter opened and closed, his breath the softest, smallest pants. 

“Yuuri?” Viktor asks. “Are you--“

“I’m fine,” he answers, his voice breathed. “I’m fine.”

It scares Viktor, doing this. It would be so easy to kill Yuuri accidentally, to hurt him. It scares Viktor to think that maybe there will be a time it goes too far in that interstitial space and he won’t even realize. 

Yuuri’s eyes are heavy. He shifts a little, pulling the shawl more tightly around his shoulders. “Vitya,” he murmurs. “I’m cold.”

Viktor wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand and scrambles up the bed, to pull Yuuri’s cool shoulders toward his chest, to wrap him up safe and tight.

“Do you need tea?” Viktor asks. “Something warm?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “Just a moment,” he says. “I’m okay. Dizzy. Are you still hungry?”

Viktor shakes his head. It’s not true, but that’s fine. He’s always hungry. It’s just something that’s a part of him. 

“What about you, my Yuuri?” He asks. “I know we have some greens in the fridge--“

“I’m okay, I promise,” Yuuri interrupts. “I promise. Just lay with me, a moment.”

Yuuri’s eyes drift closed, his dark lashes contrasting brightly with his pale cheeks. His breath goes deeper, slower, steadier. His body temperature shifts from a little too cool to much, much warmer. Viktor wraps the shawl around him even more, trying to capture his naked thighs. 

Yuuri naps. Viktor holds him. 

And after some time, he shifts on Viktor’s chest. His inhale goes longer, longer and his eyes flutter open, lids still heavy, pupils de-focused. Equally tired and missing his glasses, sitting on the nightstand.

“Mmm, Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs. He says something in Japanese, his tongue floating through the syllables sweetly. It takes him a moment, waking up. Viktor is happy to give it to him. 

“How long was I asleep?” He asks. 

“Not long,” Viktor answers. 

Yuuri stretches a little, his back curving. He presses his chest into Viktor’s, and Viktor feels suddenly the thunder of Yuuri’s heartbeat. He relaxes back and Viktor feels the  _ grind _ of Yuuri’s pelvis against him. Viktor swallows. His throat feels dry. 

“Vitya,” Yuuri whines. “I  _ want _ you.”

Viktor smiles. He can’t help it. “Are you sure?” He asks. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, my Yuuri.”

“I’m not  _ fragile _ ,” Yuuri says. “Fuck me already.”

Viktor swallows, dryly, and fumbles his hands into his desk drawer and grabs a bottle of lube. He squeezes it into his hands and lets it warm a bit. He lets it slide in his fingers, slippery and light. 

He reaches between Yuuri’s graceful, muscular legs, and carefully begins to toy with his hole. 

Viktor has heard symphonies. Notable, historic, memorable symphonies. The kind written about in books. Viktor remembers the premiere of  _ Le Sacre du Printemps _ , remembers watching it from his box in Paris. He remembers the raucous, baffling, overwhelmed throb of it in the audience. He remembers the cacophony of its confusion. He remembers how simple it was, in the confusion, to feast. Viktor remembers  _ Swan Lake _ . Viktor remembers  _ Bolero _ . 

Until Yuuri, Viktor wonders if ever he really did hear music. 

Yuuri gasps and whimpers, sips at the air in little movements, eyes fluttering open and shut. 

“Yes, Viktor, please, right there,” he cries. 

Viktor smiles and strokes, right there. 

Finding Yuuri’s prostate, oh, the treasure that it is. 

Viktor thinks he didn’t know what gems were until he found this. 

Viktor feels the way he has gone loose around his fingers and he smiles. 

“Yuuri?” He asks.

“Yes, Vitya, please,” Yuuri cries. “Please, Vitya.” He slurs like this. Not the crisp, clear  _ Vit-ya _ his name usually is; instead it falls into  _ Vii-cha _ . Viktor loves him like this. Out of his mind with the sensation, the thrill of it, the pleasure. “Vitya, please,  _ please _ . Please.”

Viktor has never been begged like this before. 

Viktor slicks himself up, hard. 

And he slides into Yuuri. Warm and  _ tight _ and visceral and so good, oh so good.

Yuuri’s hands fist into the sheets. His eyes roll backward.

Viktor fucks into him and Yuuri’s hips buck up, high. 

“VIktor,” Yuuri cries. “Viktor,  _ yes, yes _ .” 

Yuuri’s skin sweaty under his hands. His own breath harsh in his ears.

“ _ Harder, harder _ ,” he says, his hands flying up to claw at Viktor’s back. 

Yuuri’s plush mouth twisted beautifully into a snarl. HIs nails digging into Viktor’s back. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri  _ screams _ . 

Viktor’s hand around Yuuri’s dick, stroking up and down, running his thumb over the head of his cock. 

Yuuri goes rigid and tense, and his breath freezes and he comes.

And Viktor does, too. It crashes into him, falls into him all at once, all too big. He feels his toes curl and his lungs freeze and his vision falter.

Viktor feels Yuuri relax and he feels his hands rise up to his face, his thumbs resting on his cheekbones. 

Yuuri pulls him in, kisses him again. 

Viktor smiles. He shifts and carefully picks Yuuri up where he lays. 

Yuuri stirs. “Vitya,” he moans. “I’m so sleepy.”

“I know, dearest,” Viktor says. “But you’ll not be cursing my name in four hours if you clean up for just a moment now, yes?”

Viktor sets him down carefully in the bathroom. Yuuri huffs and shuts the door. Viktor waits, leaned against the wall, for Yuuri to finish and open the door. 

Eventually, Viktor heads in and Yuuri goes back to the bed. Viktor wipes himself off quickly and washes his face, taking a moment to look at his gaunt features in the reflection. 

Viktor’s not sure what Yuuri sees in him. His flinty blue eyes and his cruel mouth and his overlong nose and his big forehead and--

“ _ Vitya,”  _ Yuuri calls from the bedroom. 

Viktor dries himself off and switches off the light. He heads back to bed, back to Yuuri, and back into the arms of his beloved. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @moosefeels


End file.
